‘Never mind. Just do it. Keep on until every item of stock is taken out of the warehouses.’
‘I hope you know what you’re doing?’
‘I need all the goods invoiced to our old company on three‑months credit at a quarter of what they were bought for.’
At the other end of the line Erick heard Magnus draw in a deep breath as realisation of what was being planned dawned on him. ‘Leave it to me,’ was all he said.
The next day, Erick sold all the debtors from Scandinavian Advertising Gifts to a company which Magnus formed. A solicitor was instructed to sue the previous owners for damages. At midday, Magnus informed the staff of SAG that the company was going into liquidation. Their wages would be sent by post.
The same day they appointed a liquidator to close the company. He was paid handsomely in advance.
At four o’clock the offices and warehouses of SAG were completely empty. Only the phones rang continuously, unanswered.
Although Erick had never done anything knowingly illegal at GIANT CDCM, this was different. What he had now done was criminal and so crudely carried out that anyone could see that the company had been stripped of its assets and only left with bad debts.
Every time a car stopped outside his house, Erick expected the police to knock at his door. It was only a question of time. He felt he was being watched, his post tampered with, his telephone bugged.
One morning a registered letter arrived informing him that SAG had been formally wound up.
‘It’s amazing?” Erick said to Magnus. ‘No one other than the liquidator has looked into what we’ve done! When the remaining stock and the leases are sold and the last debtor has paid us, you’ll have made one hundred thousand and I’ll have made two hundred and forty.’
Magnus nodded and smiled at him. ‘And I think I can guess what’s coming next!’
‘So why don’t we?’ Erick asked. ‘Do it professionally, keeping it as legal as possible. It’ll never be completely legal, but if we’re aware of the pitfalls, use solicitors and accountants to cover every transaction, have proper companies buying the goods and always employ our own liquidator, we could make a fortune within a few years.’
They were silent for a long time, then Erick said slowly, ‘If at first you don’t succeed, crime may be your style.’ Magnus smiled and offered his hand.
Mirage Consulting (Scandinavia) A/S, whose slogan was ‘Solutions Implemented’, started life in a prestigious office on Stroeget in Copenhagen. Officially it was a business consultancy advising on marketing and business problems.
Shortly after that advertisements had appeared, aimed at attracting companies with financial problems, twenty replies were received. A few days after this, Mirage was involved in its first takeover.
Erick had explained to Karen exactly what the company was doing. She agreed to run the office and administration matters and was paid double her previous salary. After a couple of months the office employed a staff of ten.
Magnus had taken over daily responsibility, leaving Erick to take the main decisions.
As their success grew, Erick began to wonder if a similar company could be set up in London.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
_________________________
Mayfair and the City of London, March 1967
‘Did you read about Mick Jagger and Keith Richard being arrested by the Drugs Squad?’ Arthur asked John when they met in the shop.
John laughed. ‘In a few days their solicitors will get them off and all will be forgotten. If they can change the law on abortion, I wouldn’t be surprised if one day soft drugs are made legal. An alarming thought! Most of my income would dry up the day that happened.’
‘Anyway,’ Arthur said, ‘I’ve stumbled on something that might interest you. We’ve finally unearthed a skeleton at Higginson’s. I’m sorry it’s taken months. Something to do with his son.’
Arthur told his long haired looking young assistant to make them some coffee, then closed the door to his office. ‘Philip, as you know, is studying economics at Cambridge. Over the last year he’s become addicted to heroin. He’s also queer. His boyfriend is the supplier.’
‘Have you any proof?’
‘We had to wait for the right time. Get a spy camera. That’s what took so long. But these should do the trick.’ Arthur spread several photographs over his desk. John picked them up. One showed a young man injecting himself in the arm with a syringe. In, another the same man was kissing another man. Several had been taken at a party and showed men openly engaged in sex with each other.
One picture, enlarged to twenty by fifteen inches, showed only a man’s face, smeared in lipstick and mascara. His eyes and mouth were wide open as if in horror or pain. Tears ran down his cheeks. The photograph made a strong impression on John.
‘This is Philip?’ John did not recognise the boy with whom he used to play chess.
‘Yes. You wouldn’t think so from that photo, but he’s still working for his degree and seldom misses a lecture.’
‘I know he’s very intelligent,’ John said. ‘The question is, does his father know about this? And who’s the boyfriend?’
‘He’s a well‑known author,’ Arthur said, ‘fifteen years older than Philip, and not a drug user himself. I’d bet Alexander Higginson knows nothing about it.’
John gathered up the photographs and replaced them in the hard photographer’s envelope. ‘Be sure to get all the negatives. Tell your people they’ve done a great job. It must have been difficult to get a camera in to that party. Thanks, Arthur. It’s been a big help.’
John decided to visit Higginson in his office on a pretext of wanting to invest a large sum of money. In his letter he apologised for the conversation at their previous meeting. ‘Never put the knife in the front if you can put it in the back,’ was a favourite maxim of his.
‘How much would you like to invest?’ Higginson asked, after John had seated himself in front of his desk.
‘One million pounds.’ he placed a bank draft for that amount on the desk.
Higginson looked at it in undisguised surprise. ‘That’s a very large investment, Mr Forbes. Of course we’d be honoured to invest it for you, probably spread it between shares and government bonds. Perhaps I could work out a written proposal for your consideration?’
‘I would prefer that the full amount be placed in shares in one company.’
‘And what is the name of this company?’
‘Philip Higginson Investments Limited.’
Higginson’s face darkened to a deep red. ‘We’ve been through all this before! My firm is not for sale. Not even for a million pounds. So I suggest you leave this office right now and never come back.’
John held out the large brown envelope. ‘Have a look at these. If I don’t make a phone call within the hour, the contents of that envelope will be plastered over every newspaper in the country.’
‘Oh my God.’ Higginson loosened his tie, breathing with difficulty. After a long moment he lifted his eyes to meet John’s calm gaze. ‘This is blackmail.’
‘Exactly. But he is your son.’
‘What do you want from me? Why are you so obsessed with buying this company?’ Higginson pushed the pictures away, as if he could not bear to look at them.
John slid them back in the envelope. ‘I want Higginson’s because I promised myself I would have it when I was your office boy. I want you to sell me all your shares. You will take the cheque for one million pounds to your bank. You’ll pay it in and get a receipt. Then you will resign and pack your private belongings into the van which is waiting outside. The driver will take you home. Now,’ he said, leaning back, hands folded on one crossed knee, ‘concerning your son. I don’t think fatherly advice will solve his addiction so I’ll arrange for him to be sent to a discreet clinic in Switzerland. When he’s been off drugs for six months, I’ll offer him a job or, if he prefers, support him if he wants to continue studying.’
‘Why
should I trust you?’
‘This firm isn’t worth a million, which you know perfectly well. You’re getting a good price for the shares and I’m offering to save your son from an early grave. If you want to call that blackmail, so be it.’
John sat quietly, not taking his eyes off Higginson, knowing he had him in his power. After a pause he slid the cheque across the desk.
With a desolate expression on his face, Higginson started to open the drawers of his imposing partner’s desk, slowly removing the contents he wished to take with him. He didn’t touch the cheque while John remained in the room, clinging on to the shattered remains of his pride. That, and £1 million, was all that was left to him.
* * *
Later that afternoon, new locks were installed at Philip Higginson Investments and the alarm system reprogrammed. The staff were each given a letter informing them that a Zurich bank had taken over the company and that there would be a ten percent increase in their wages from next month.
John had the photographs and negatives delivered to Higginson’s house a few days later.
He met Arthur again beside the Serpentine in Hyde Park some days after Higginson Investments had been acquired.
‘I have to honour a promise,’ John explained, ‘which means taking Philip Higginson to a Swiss clinic, probably against his will. It must be done very soon. I want professionals to do it.’
‘What about those Scottish brothers, the Clarks?’ Arthur suggested. ‘They’ve never messed up yet.’
John nodded. The Clark twins had proved themselves thoroughly trustworthy and reliable enforcers in a few tight spots which the hemp firm had experienced.
‘Perhaps it’s time for me to meet them. I could have more work for them fairly soon. They need to be directed and I don’t want them to work for anyone else.’
‘I’ve no doubt they’ve the brains,’ Arthur replied, ‘and they’re cold, calculating bastards.’
‘Then I’ll meet them tomorrow in Epsom,’ said John, beginning to walk slowly back along the path, ‘and if I like the look of them, they’ll start reporting directly to me.’
Arthur fell into step beside him. ‘Are you thinking of using their services for Auto‑Trade‑Factors?’
John laughed. ‘You know me too well. How’s it going?’
His friend looked suddenly serious. ‘There’s a bit of a problem. There are eight criminal organisations who could object to our new enterprise. We’ll have to think about how to deal with them. A bank that finances criminal activities, which is what Auto‑Trade‑Factors really is, won’t go unnoticed.’
‘Anyone in particular?’
‘The most vicious is a gang that deals in drugs as well as protection rackets. The head man is Duncan Grace. He’s a thug, but shrewd with it. He works out of South West London.’
‘So are you saying we’ll have to get his permission to
start up our business?’
‘I think we need to keep the peace.’
‘I don’t like it. The more people who know about our operation, the bigger the risk we run. Anyway, they’re hardly on our level. Just common villains.’
‘Don’t underestimate them,’ Arthur warned. ‘If we can reach a deal with them, we won’t have to worry about the Triads, Hell’s Angels or the Mafia, or any similar nasty which might spring up. We don’t want an out and out war with any of them.’
John looked worried. ‘We want to remain invisible. Why can’t we just expand the new organisation slowly, while we build up further contacts through prisons? Even get some police and politicians on our payroll...’
‘I’ve already recruited some,’ Arthur interrupted.
‘When Auto‑Trade‑Factors gets going, it’ll create a network of criminal contacts, soon making us stronger than any of those gangs you mentioned,’ John said. ‘That’s the aspect of our operation which fascinates me most.’
They walked on in silence as Arthur realised for the first time the scale of the operation John was envisaging. He said at last, ‘I think, I’ve found the person to run Auto‑Trade‑Factors.’
‘Good. Tell me more.’
‘She’s in her forties...’ Arthur began.
‘A woman?’
‘Yes. But tougher than any man. She has a knack for going straight to the heart of a problem. A good judge of character, respectable, and with good contacts. She’s honest and she needs a job.’
‘What’s her background?’
‘She ran away from home and was on the game at fifteen. By the time she was twenty she ran brothels. She and her husband also carried out several successful insurance scams. They retired a couple of years ago and were going to move to Spain, but the day before the move he ran off with all the money. He’s never been seen since.’
‘How did you learn about her?’
‘Diana’s her sister or brother, depending on the way you look at it.’
John hesitated. ‘A bit close to home, isn’t it?’
‘Ah, but Rose is special. Shall I arrange a meeting?’
‘No, I’ll take your word for it. It’s you who’ll be working with her.’
‘You know the eight gangland bosses we spoke about? One of them, Pete McPhee is Diana and Rose’s father. The junk dealing is just a smokescreen to keep the tax people happy. My relationship with Diana which goes back on and off to when I was eighteen, has given me most of my underworld contacts. Without my father‑in‑law, I’d have no credibility. He has to know about our enterprise. Having taken Diana off his shoulders however has made me his favourite.’
John considered this new twist. He had never asked Arthur how he’d built up his network of contacts. By involving Rose in their new venture, not only would they get someone who sounded ideal for the job, but a person whose presence would almost certainly guarantee no aggro from the other gangland bosses. They would not want to tangle with both John Forbes and Pete McPhee.
When John got back to his office in Esher there were urgent messages from Catherine. ‘It’s your mother,’ she said when he rang back, ‘she’s had a stroke.’
May Forbes died before John reached the hospital.
She went to her grave thanking God for the success of her beloved son, who had never given her a day’s worry.
CHAPTER TWENTY
_________________________
Epsom Downs, April 1967
Arthur Black told the Clark twins that a meeting was being arranged between them and the person who was the real head of the organisation. They were to go to a pub in Epsom and wait outside for a dark blue Daimler outside.
When the car drew up, the driver told them to get into the back seat. They drove for ten minutes in total silence. ‘Fancy a walk over the Downs?’
It was a beautiful spring morning. There were a few cars parked on the grass behind the Grandstand, their owners walking dogs or just strolling taking advantage of the nice weather. They passed several crocodiles of nursery school children in uniform.
‘I thought we should meet,’ the driver said. He was a slight dark‑haired man wearing a full‑length battered long Barbour and heavy brogues.
‘I want our relationship to be based on trust,’ he went on, ‘so it’s only fair you should know who you’re working for. I’m impressed by your willingness to learn new methods and I think you’re ready to do more in the organisation.’
As he finished speaking, a kite crash‑landed in front of them. He picked it up and waved to the little boy who was holding the string and just beginning to cry. He shouted to the boy to start running in the opposite direction while he held the kite aloft. A few minutes later the kite was soaring into the air and the boy was laughing delightedly.
‘I’ve always liked kites,’ the man said, as they started walking again. ‘They fly so high and there’s always someone in control, holding the other end of the line.’ He smiled at them amiably. ‘My name is John Forbes. I want you to sell me your souls.’
* * *
&n
bsp; Jim and Neil Clark were identical twins, born in the Gorbals area of Glasgow on Christmas Day 1947. Their father was a violent alcoholic who, when the twins become too big for him, turned his fists on their mother. Often they would come home to find her semiconscious and bleeding on the kitchen floor. One night, finding her there and their father lying drunk on the bed, they decided to put a stop to it.
They bundled him, still senseless, into his own battered Ford Prefect and drove eleven miles outside Glasgow. They stopped on a bridge over the Clyde and threw the inert, alcohol‑sodden body over. The twins were fourteen years old at the time. Sharing this weighty secret, they would never rely on or confide in anyone but each other.
By the time they were sixteen they were already veterans of serious crime: armed robbery, protection rackets and grievous bodily harm. They had no scruples about their line of work and gradually climbed their way through the ranks of the criminal fraternity, keeping their own records clean.
They were not only strikingly similar in looks, tall, rangy and red‑haired, but also in their way of thinking, which often helped them in tight situations. Jim usually took control but Neil took time to consider the fine detail and sometimes challenged Jim’s decisions. They were both keen sportsmen, kept themselves rigorously fit and were fearsome opponents in a fight.
Their last jobs in Glasgow were as enforcers for one of Glasgow’s biggest villains, Alex Chartwin. Their reputation for ruthlessness struck fear in the hearts of local businessmen from whom they demanded monthly protection payments.
One day, Chartwin called them into his office and told them he wanted a car dealer reprimanded about his unpaid loan. They made it their business to find out the car dealer’s daily routine. Twice a week he visited a woman who lived only a few minutes away from his yard. They kept a watch on her house until it was time to act.
At two o’clock one afternoon they quietly forced open the back door and crept upstairs. They heard moaning coming from a room to their right. They pushed open the door and stood to either side of it. On the bed the dealer lay over a naked woman, whose short fat legs were round his waist. Nodding to each other, the twins grasped him under the armpits.
‘Sorry about this, love,’ Jim said affably, ‘you’ll have to manage without him.’
The woman sat up, mouth open, too shocked to scream.
‘Listen, lads, we can sort this out...’ the man began.